


Check Engine Light

by Unclesteeb



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Sam Wilson, Dirty Talk, FBI Agent Sam, Falling In Love, M/M, Mechanic Bucky Barnes, Mystery, POV Sam Wilson, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, War Veteran Sam Wilson
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-24
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 23:02:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10423758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unclesteeb/pseuds/Unclesteeb
Summary: Sam’s not used to this. He knows how a mind works. He knows how to make sure he never has to be anyone but the one saying goodbye. What is it about this Bucky fucking Barnes that made him slip?When Sam Wilson's called to help solve a series of crimes in the small town of Brentonwood, Indiana (pop: 4,736) he expects to do what he's done hundreds of times before: explore a new town, meet some new people and solve the case. What he gets when he meets Bucky Barnes is so much more than that.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Check Engine Light- the fic that was supposed to be 7k total but has somehow turned into a multi-chapter fun-filled thing instead!

_“Who would have thought that all this would come out of a broken fuse?” Bucky asks him. Sam takes one of his hands off of the steering wheel. He sneaks a peak from the road to look at Bucky’s face. He’s staring out the window, chewing on his thumbnail. Sam reaches his hand over to squeeze Bucky’s thigh._

_“I wouldn’t change a thing.”_

_Bucky turns to face him. “You wouldn’t?”_

_Sam feels himself smiling. He squeezes Bucky’s thigh even tighter. “I’ve been looking for you for longer than you even know.”_

Xxx

When Sam Wilson was 14, his dad died.

It was the kind of emotional pain that physically ached. Losing his father was unlike anything Sam ever knew. It was worse than the time Jenny Brown broke his heart and started dating his best friend in the sixth grade. It was worse than the time his sister told him he was a “dumb stupid loser.” It was worse than anything Sam could have ever imagined. He cried for weeks. He woke up every morning to go to school expecting his father to be cooking breakfast downstairs. He went to church every Sunday expecting his father to be preaching. It was an indescribable kind of pain that broke him into little tiny pieces. It was the worst thing that ever happened to him.

Until two years later his mom died too.

Sam spent the next few years of his life bouncing between mind-dulling numbness and anger. He picked fights at school. We experimented with drugs. He did everything he could think to avoid dealing with the pain not being that not having a home and a family caused him. He felt like he was floating through the world without a purpose or reason. His siblings and he were both sent with their aunt and uncle to live. Sam continued to float through the world. He learned how to talk his way out of disappointing someone, how to promise he’d get better. Sam finished out high school, somehow graduating by the grace of God. He tried college for a while, but he couldn't get into it. He continued to float through the world. He got sent to therapy. 

“I feel like I’m flying around with no purpose.” Is what he told him.

His therapist was a big burly guy, someone his college advisor had set him up with. Sam had no opinion about him, but he seemed nice enough. 

“Son, what do you know about the Air Force? They can teach you a thing or two about how to fly.”

He signed up the next day. At least he wouldn’t have to sit through another economics class anymore. 

Sam found his purpose then, excelling in their Air Force in ways he could have never dreamed of. He spent his time overseas. He spent two tours on special elite team that hunted down high-profile targets. It was in this team that he learned the skills that would allow him to be the successful man he is today. During his second tour, his best friend and partner, Riley was killed on a mission a few months before he was supposed to be sent home.It broke him into pieces, shattered, that familiar pain of loss hitting him hard and fast again. Sam lost his dedication when Riley died, his motivation to keep fighting. He was tempted to just give up and go home. But Sam didn’t have one of those anymore. The last time Sam felt like he had a home was back when he was 13 before his father died. 

Thankfully, Sam got lucky. The FBI recruited him quickly after his second tour finished. It was a good position in the profiling unit. He wouldn't have to stay in one place for very long, which was a comfort to him. He could move around the country, going where he was needed, where he could help. He accepted the position with gratitude and the knowledge that he could still make a difference without the fear of having to set his roots down somewhere once more. He could float around the world for a _reason_.

Sam pulls into police station of Brentonwood, Indiana (pop: 4,736) just as it starts to snow. 

Brentonwood is the type of place that Sam would never, ever go to unless he absolutely had to. He was a city boy a heart from growing up in Harlem and had a relatively unloved and bare apartment in downtown D.C. that he got to return to every once in every few weeks. Most of the walls are bare. There's a few paintings he's purchased over the years that he's hung up. There's some pictures of him with his sister, brother and nieces and nephews scattered about. It's obviously impersonal for reasons that Sam tries desperately to pretend are related to his work or maybe the things he's seen both domestic and overseas. It's not like that's a lie, no one knows that nothing lasts forever more than Sam Wilson does. 

He just doesn't want to get too attached, that's all. 

Xxx

In the past nine months, the quiet town of Brentonwood and its three closest neighbors (Aldan, Marshville and Watkins) have experienced over a dozen murders. 

This isn't something that would normally tip off a guy like Sam. Sure, they're all small towns but it doesn't take more than a quick look into the recent arrests for the county to see that there's been a uptick in drug-related arrests the past few years. And everyone knows that with drugs comes guns, and the more guns you have the more chance that someone, somewhere is going to get killed. 

The reason Sam’s been called in, is where things start to get complicated.  
“So every victim is missing a tooth.” 

Sam raises his eyebrow, “A tooth?”

Sam researched Captain Steve Rogers before he left D.C. He’s an Army vet with a hell of a service record. The guy went on a one-man suicide mission to free some of his unit after they’d gotten captured. He’s definitely ballsy, and from the repeated calls out to the FBI, Sam know’s he’s stubborn as hell too. He’s a good looking guy, a few inches taller than Sam with cropped blonde hair. His police uniform’s pressed perfectly. He obviously takes pride in what he does. 

“Yeah a fuckin’ tooth.” He’s also a Brooklyn-implant to Brentonwood. Sam eyes him and wonders what made him move to the midwest. He doesn’t have a wedding ring, and that’s the first tiny hint of Brooklyn that Sam’s caught in his accent. He’s been here a while then, He guesses one of his parent’s moved for work when he was younger. If that’s the case then he must have a good relationship with them. He’s too attached to the town to have any bad memories associated with it. 

“Don’t give me that look, Agent.” Steve says just after Sam narrows his eyes. “This isn’t some backass town. I can give you the names of most of the people missing teeth around here, and about eighty perfect of them are over ninety. _Plus_ the teeth were pulled post-mortem.”

“So you’re looking for a guy with a collection of teeth in his closet.”

“Yep. Each victim has been killed the same way- multiple stab wounds to the abdomen and chest- except for the first guy.”

“Eric Janye? Anything special about him?”

Steve shrugs, “He was a dick. Got into fights a lot in a few bars in the area. I booked him a couple times. But he wasn’t bad, just an asshole. He didn’t do anything besides run his mouth and throw a lousy punch or two.”

“Cap, that kinda sounds like a reason to kill a guy. He was the strangulation?”

“Yeah.”

“Missing tooth?”

“You betcha.”

Sam sighs. There’s an obvious pattern between the killings but they’re missing something. The local police have already investigated this case to hell and back. They’ve interviewed everyone with a hunting knife (the murder weapon). They’ve interviewed everyone who was around the victims last. He knows that Steve’s good. He’s read every interrogation report. Nothing stood out to him. A lot of times Sam can help a town solve a case just from reading them from his desk in his apartment. “Okay then, show me where you found the first body. I’ll drive.” 

Just as Sam thought, the wooded area where the first body was found is too changed by weather and nature to see a damn thing. There’s an inch of snow already on the ground and it’s still falling around them.

Steve stuffs both of his hands into his pockets. “We’re missing something, Agent Wilson. You gotta help us find it. Every day when I get my morning coffee I’m looking at everyone like they’re a damn suspect. I just want this guy locked away where he belongs.”

Sam nods, he gets it. It has to be tearing the community apart. The local news hasn’t made a connection between the murders and that’s mostly due to Steve’s great PR. If the public got a word that it was a single person committing these murders, this could get messy pretty damn fast. 

They walk back to the car without a word. Sam starts it up, grimacing when the car’s annoying orange check engine light flicks on. 

“Hey, this snow’s only gonna get worse.” Steve starts. He sounds tired in a way that Sam recognizes from his own self. Too many hours of pouring over notes with no breakthrough. “They tell you where you’re gonna be staying?”

“Told me I got an apartment.”

“But they didn’t tell you about you’re awesome landlord?” Sam doesn’t need to look at Steve to know he’s grinning, proud of his own dumb joke. 

“Let me guess, it’s you.” 

Steve barks out a laugh. “Look at you! Your federal powers of deduction are already showing.”

Sam rolls his eyes, but it’s fond. Steve’s a good guy and a good cop. Apparently, he’s a good landlord and a semi-professional comedian too. 

“Yeah, yeah. This place better have five star accommodations.”

“What about a washer and dryer instead?” 

Xxx

Sam’s apartment is nicer than he imagined it. It’s obviously well-loved. The appliances are mismatched in brand and color but relatively new and the hardwood floorboards are a nice, real, dark wood. The walls in each room are painted a different light color. The kitchen’s a calming pale yellow. Sam likes it more than he expected. It feels- it reminds him of being a kid again for some reason. Steve leans against the speckled countertops and folds his arms. “You need anything just call or send me a text, okay? I’m sure you’ll get the lay of the land soon, but I’m right down the street. Number thirty-eight.”

“Thanks, man. I really appreciate all of this.”

Steve pushes himself off of the counter and heads to the front door. “Hell, I appreciate you too. I know that this case wasn’t an obvious choice.”

“We’re gonna figure out what we’re missing and get this guy away.” 

Steve reaches out his hand and Sam shakes it before he turns to head out. “Oh! By the way,” he says, stopping in his tracks and spinning to face Sam again. “I saw your check engine light’s on. There’s a shop over on Arthur Street. Guy’s good. He’ll take care of you.”

“Thanks. I’ll head down there tomorrow and see what I can do.”

“Of course.” Steve turns around and with a little wave, he’s gone.

Sam sighs. He feels the tension that being around another person, anyone, will bring him. He didn’t start feeling like that until after he started working for the FBI. He figures that’s what he gets, working a job like his. He spends way too much of his time trying to figure everyone else out. It seeps into his personal relationships more than he’s proud of. 

He fixes himself a sandwich from the few groceries Steve had made him stop and pick up on their way here. He eats it at the tiny, round kitchen table. He thinks about checking his phone, seeing what his family’s up to today on facebook. He goes to grab his phone out of his work bag, but his hand stutters and comes to a stop over the case notes instead. 

“Can’t hurt.” 

He falls asleep a few hours later in bed, file folder in hand and three more suspects to interrogate. 

Xxx

The next day Brentonwood’s covered in a few inches of snow. The day passes like molasses dripping off a spoon. Every hour drags. Sam, Steve and a few more of the officers pile over Sam’s notes. Steve ends up agreeing with Sam’s new choices of possible suspects and promises to pick the guy up over the next few days. Around 3:45, they get a domestic dispute call. Steve offers to stay and keep working with Sam but he just waves Steve on his way. Sam can practically feel the gratitude radiating off of the guy. Not every day in investigating is exciting. Today was just plain boring. 

“I gotta get my check engine light looked at anyway. See you tomorrow?”

Steve gives Sam a brilliant smile, “Sure will.” 

The repair shop is a few blocks away from the police station. It’s your standard local garage. The building’s brick and there’s a hand-painted large sign overtop of it that reads ‘JBB Automotive’. Sam parks his car in the driveway and heads in the front door. A bell chimes when the door closes, signaling his arrival. The front desk is unmanned, but Sam hears music playing from a radio in the adjacent garage. Then from around the corner a guy sticks his head into the office. He has long brown hair that’s tied back at the nape of his neck, a scruffy beard and the most brilliantly blue- no maybe gray- eyes Sam’s ever seen. 

“Hey,” the guy starts. His voice is raspy and soft, fuck. “Just give me a second and I’ll be right there.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Sam says, because this guy is doing it for him way more than he imagined. He strides into Sam’s view into the garage, sticking his head under a hood of a blue car. He’s wearing jeans and a dirty white tee shirt. He’s tall and muscular, made of lean muscle. Sam can see his arms flex as he leans into the car to fiddle with an engine part. His shirt lifts up just a little, exposing some of the skin on his back and the top of his boxers where his pants are sagging the tiniest bit. _Yeah… okay_ , then. 

The guy shuts the hood of the car he was working on and wipes his hands off on a dirty rag before he sets it down next to the register. His mouth forms a natural pout- parted just so, his forearms ripple with every movement of his hands. When he looks up at Sam again, his eyes are just as big and blue as they were before. 

They stare at each other for one long, awkward moment before the guy clears his throat and asks, “So, uh, car trouble or did someone pay you to come look stunningly beautiful in front of me to make my day?”

Sam stutters, since not only is he not used to a come on so strong but he definitely wasn’t expecting it in a place like _this_ and after a brief opening and closing of his mouth manages, “Check engine light’s on.” 

“Oh, yeah.” The guy says. He gets this real surprised look on his face like even he himself couldn't believe how flirtatious he just was. 

Before he can stop himself, Sam says, “But you getting to see me look beautiful is a plus for you, I guess.”

The guy laughs, eyes sparkling. “Well isn't it just my lucky day then.” He comes out from behind the counter and sticks his hand out for Sam to shake, “My name’s Bucky. Bucky Barnes.” 

“Sam Wilson.”

“You got a nice strong shake Sam.” Bucky grins up at him. Sam almost starts to roll his eyes preemptively, knowing the line he’s about to get told. “They say that says a lot about a man, what his hands are capable of and all.”

Sam lifts an eyebrow. If it’s going to be like that he can play at this game too. “Oh yeah? Well then maybe I’ll show you what my hands are capable of if you show me what yours are.” He nods in the direction of his car. “Turn off my check engine light and maybe if you do an alright job I’ll turn you on later.” 

Bucky’s eyes grow large and shocked for a moment before he breaks out into a guffaw. He lets go of Sam’s hand and moves back behind the register. “Goddamn, Wilson. Where’d they teach you to talk like that?” 

“Certainly not here.” 

“I figured that much. Hey seriously man, it’s only going to take me a few to plug the machine in and diagnose your car. I should be able to either fix it up or send in an order for a part from there if you wanna stick around.” Bucky’s voice is echoing in the office and there’s an unfamiliar drawl to it. Well, not unfamiliar to Sam but definitely to Indiana. 

“Brooklyn?” Sam asks. 

Bucky cocks his head, “Yeah. Yeah, how’d you know?”

Sam shrugs. “I work for the FBI. I know a lot of things.” 

“Ohh boy. So we’ve got a government man in town now? To what do we owe the pleasure?” Bucky smirks at Sam like he’s amused but he folds his arms protectively across his chest. That’s interesting. The guy _does not_ trust the government. 

Sam does his best to keep his face neutral. He allows himself to lift an eyebrow flirtatiously, wishing for their earlier energy to creep back in. Sam may have his work cut out for him in this town but there’s few things that clear Sam’s mind better than a good fuck and damn, it’s been a while. He’s pretty sure he’s looking at Bucky like he’s a cool drink of water after a ten mile run. It’s not everyday you meet a guy who looks like that. Sam figures he deserves the distraction.

“More like to who do _you_ owe the pleasure.” Sam smirks. “I’m still waiting to see what those hands can do, big guy.”

Bucky blushes, just a little, high on those sharp cheekbones of his. “I’m gettin’ to it!” He’s chuckling a little and his arms fall softly to his sides. Sam feels something loosen in his chest. They’re back in the game, then. “Come on, I’ll pull your car up here.”

Bucky gets Sam’s car into the garage and plugs in the little computer to read the diagnosis code. He asks Sam a few questions: _Where is he from?_ (Harlem) _How long will he be in town?_ (he has no idea) and _How do you take your coffee in the morning?_ (Just a bit of milk)

He purses his lips after Sam gives the last answer. “Well that’s a good thing to know because it turns out your engine light is just a fuse out, but I don’t have the part and probably won’t until Monday.” 

“What does my car have to do with coffee?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, I was wondering if I could take you home in mine. Maybe, we could both go to my place.” 

Sam bites his lip. It's a tell, he knows this, and he wishes he could have stopped himself from doing it. He sees Bucky's eyes narrow just slightly, catching it instantly. Huh. The guy must be trained himself in some way. Maybe military? But that doesn’t necessarily explain the distrust of the government. Unless-

“Uh, sorry. I guess maybe that was kinda sudden.”

Aw, fuck. Now Sam’s gone and made the guy self-conscious. It’s been too long since Sam’s gotten to have a one night stand, especially one with a guy that’s this fucking hot. He can’t miss this opportunity. 

“I was just thinkin’ about how you should buy me dinner first, is all. I mean, it’s only fair since the only work you showed me you could do with your hands is plugging in a computer. Even I could do that. I should _at least_ get treated to a nice meal. For all I know, you’re shit in bed. How could I tell?”

Bucky huffs a little laugh. “You really know how to surprise a guy, Sam.” He unplugs his computer from Sam’s car and shuts the car’s door, tossing Sam the keys. “Sure. Dinner we can get. We have all of one restaurant to choose from. You pick.”

Sam laughs. “Oh it sounds like a really tough choice then.”

Xxx

“So what brings you to Indiana from Brooklyn?” Sam asks with a mouthful of cheeseburger. It’s pretty good. 

“Lotsa stuff,” Bucky replies. He takes a sip of his vanilla milkshake then continues. “I wanted a fresh start. My parents are gone. My siblings are grown. I didn’t have anyone back home. Plus, Steve. You know Steve Rogers, the police captain?”

“Oh yeah. I know Steve. He’s a nice guy. I’ve been working with him.”

“Yeah well Steve and I grew up together back in Brooklyn. He moved out here with his mom when he was a teenager so we lost touch for a while. Then we linked back up in the Army. Whatever official FBI business you’re here for, you couldn’t have a better guy on your side than Steve.”

“Seems that way.” Sam agrees. Steve Rogers does seem like a wonderful guy. He’d be thinking about recruiting him back in D.C. when this was all said and done if Steve didn’t seem loyal as hell to his small town force. 

“So yeah Steve.” Bucky picks at a few of his fries. He’s nervous. This part of the story is obviously more personal to him. Sam wonders why Bucky’s bothering to tell him at all. There could be a few reasons. Maybe he figures Steve’s gonna tell Sam himself. Maybe he’s just happy to see another not-straight man in town. The last option, Sam supposes is that maybe Bucky’s secretly hoping that their sex won’t be as casual as Sam knows it’s going to be. The thought makes Sam a little nervous. He doesn’t like to be tied down. A relationship means staying put. A relationship means committing to something- giving something more than he wants to give out. Bucky takes the french fry and rests it on his lower lip, making it pout out even more so than normal. Goddamn, that mouth is just _unfair_. 

Bucky’s a big boy. He’ll be okay with a one night stand. If he can’t, well then he can take it up with his pretty little lips.

“When I got home I called Steve up to see where he was these days. He told me he was here, so I kind of followed him. I used some of the pay that I got for getting my arm all messed up overseas and bought that old garage. I gave the town a new mechanic.”

“Well I bet the town was lucky to have you then.” Sam replies. He's curious about the trauma to Bucky's arm but doesn't press. Sam will either see it when they're naked later or be too distracted to notice. He hopes it's the latter. 

Bucky grins. “I was lucky to have it too. It's been nice, having a new home. Being welcomed into all this like I belonged here.” He gives a nod in the directions of all the other patrons at the diner, then turns his head to look out at them. He gets a soft smile on his face and his eyes soften. He really does love it in this little town. It makes something inside Sam ache for the briefest of moments. 

Then Bucky turns back to him and asks the worst possible question. “So how about you, where do you belong?”

Sam has a hundred things he could say- Harlem 20 years ago, the Air Force before my best friend died, the FBI, my fancy, barren apartment in D.C. But instead what he does is laugh and say, “Definitely not here”

Bucky rolls his eyes just a little, then grabs a few French fries and takes a bite off of the tip of all of them at once. “I don't know. You seem like you just might fit in yet, Wilson,” He tells Sam mid-chew.

Sam snorts and helps himself to one of Bucky's fries. “We’ll see about that.”

The longer their dinner lasts, the more that Sam's sure of only one thing:

He's not sure if he's ever wanted to fuck someone’s mouth as much as he wants to right now. 

Bucky pays the check and leads them back out to his car. It's just what you'd expect from a guy like him, a roaring classic mustang. What Sam's not expecting, however, is for Bucky to press himself hard into Sam's back when he's trying to open the passenger side door. Sam makes a noise that's halfway between a gasp and a laugh. The line of Bucky's body against his is setting him on fire. Bucky's breath is hot against his ear when he breathes, “God, I wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah?”

“I haven't been able to think about a damn thing else since you walked into my shop.” He grinds his hips down onto Sam's ass to emphasize his point. Sam can feel his dick, hard and big, pressing into his ass. 

“Why’re you holding us up then? We could be almost at your place by now.”

Bucky thrusts his hips into Sam's ass again, then spins him around. Sam lets himself be turned so that he's facing Bucky. Even in the dark he can see that Bucky's eyes are sparkling with anticipation. Bucky tilts his chin up and leans in to brush their noses together. “You kinda seem like the type of guy that loves a good tease.” He leans even closer, and there's nothing Sam wants to do more than close the distance between them but fuck, Bucky's got his number. Sam takes his earlier statement back. Maybe Bucky could fuck his mouth instead. 

Bucky takes his teeth and gives Sam's full bottom lip a nibble. He makes a little moan when he's doing it, like Sam's lips are the most delicious thing he's gotten his mouth on. He sucks Sam's lip fully into his mouth and flicks his tongue in-between Sam's parted lips. This is some kind of ass-backwards way of kissing, but it has Sam panting and wiggling a little against Bucky. He's dying to know what Bucky's lips will feel like when they're fully pressed against Sam's.

Of course, that's when Bucky pulls away. 

Sam’s breath stutters but he still has it together enough to say, “You got me there.”

Bucky’s apartment is in a building two blocks west from his shop. It’s the top floor of an older home. Its floor is lined with plush, cream-colored carpet. Its walls are painted a nice light gray. Its decorated sparsely, but well. It says a lot about Bucky. He takes care of the things he likes. He must take pride in his home. He probably likes having guests over. 

But Sam doesn’t see any of that, because as soon as Bucky’s apartment door’s closed behind him he’s being shoved up against a wall and learning what Bucky’s lips _really_ feel like against his. 

They feel pretty fucking good.

Bucky pulls at Sam’s body, getting him to move in the direction he wants him to go without breaking their kiss. He’s biting at Sam’s lips and licking into Sam’s mouth. It’s wet and messy and there’s way too much banging of teeth for Sam to normally consider it hot but it’s fucking burning him alive. He’s grabbing at Bucky’s shoulders, sticking his hands up Bucky’s shirt to feel his stomach muscles flex at the touch. Sam lifts Bucky’s shirt up and manages to get their lips to part just long enough to pull it up and off. 

“Bed,” Bucky says, nibbling at Sam’s jaw. It makes him gasp. He pushes his hips out, trying to get some friction from Bucky’s. He grabs at Bucky’s ass to pull their bodies flush and it pulls a groan from both of their lips. “Fuck it. Couch.” 

Bucky spins him around and pushes him down onto his couch. Sam goes down with an _oof_ , but he’s instantly reaching his hands up to undo Bucky’s belt. 

“Can I-?”

“Oh Christ. Yeah, yes.” Bucky’s breath is coming out in short pants when he answers. 

Sam’s fingers are almost shaking as he slides down Bucky’s pants, then the boxers that were taunting him earlier, causing Bucky’s dick to spring free. Bucky kicks his pants off the rest of the way. Sam makes an appreciative hum when he sees it. It’s pretty, just like the rest of him, hard and dripping a little precome from the tip. Sam starts out by leaning forward and giving Bucky’s dick a long lick. Bucky throws his head back and groans. Sam's eyes are drawn to the long line of his neck. He wants to bite it, wants to suck his dick more first though. He pulls the head completely into his mouth and starts off slow, gentle, moaning around it. Bucky's hands move up to his hair then slide down to cup the back of his neck. 

“So-fuck- that's so good.” 

Sam moans again, the praise doing something for him. Normally the word - good- wouldn’t do anything for him but when Bucky says it, Sam’s skin shivers. Bucky notices immediately. 

“You like being good?” His breath hitches as Sam takes him deeper into his mouth, his eyes fluttering shut. “You’re being so damn good.” 

Fuck, it makes Sam double down, try to pull Bucky’s dick into his throat. He coughs around it and then breathes out his nose and tries again. Bucky’s just moaning above him, lost in it. He swirls his tongue around Bucky’s dick and bobs his head, getting it wet and messy. Bucky kneads at the back of his neck, his hips stuttering a little in tiny abortive thrusts. He’s restraining himself. “Baby,” he groans, “Sam.” He draws his hips back far enough to make his dick pop out of Sam’s mouth. Sam blinks up at him. His eyes feel heavy and his blood feels like syrup. He’s hard inside his own pants, and really fucking noticing it now that he isn’t preoccupied. 

Sam licks at his lips and says, breathless, “Fuck me.”

“Lord,” Bucky swears but then he’s pulling Sam up by his hands and dragging him into his bedroom. He starts kissing Sam again as soon as they crossover the threshold of the room. He undoes Sam’s pants and starts to push them down over the top of his ass. Sam kicks them off the rest of the way. Bucky’s mouth is just as intoxicating to kiss on as it is to look at. Sam’s not going to make it out of this with all his brain cells intact. 

Bucky gets his shirt off, then lays Sam out onto his bed. He doe nothing but look for a long moment. It makes Sam squirm and feel his own dick laying heavy on the bottom of his belly. 

“What?” he asks. There’s something about the way Bucky looks at him that makes him want to know what he’s thinking. Maybe, it’s that Sam _doesn’t already know_. He’s not used to that. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” Bucky tells him, voice even rougher now. He climbs on top of Sam and straddles his hips. He plants his hands on either side of Sam’s head and gives his hips a roll so their dicks drag together. Sam gasps. “I can’t wait to be inside of you, damn.”

“Then do it.” 

Bucky just rolls his hips again. He’s teasing Sam. He’s fucking evil. 

“Please, Bucky. Please do it.” 

That makes Bucky grin, just the one side of his mouth lifting up. “I will.” He kisses Sam’s lips before moving down Sam’s neck. He nips at Sam’s chest and flicks his tongue on one of Sam’s nipples. “I just wanna get you a little wet first.” 

He works his way down past Sam’s stomach, kissing and nipping at Sam’s skin. He gives Sam’s dick just one long, slow lick. He looks at Sam the entire time. He fucking knows exactly what he’s doing. “You’re- oh- awful.” Sam complains, but that just makes Bucky smile while he bites at the skin of Sam’s thigh. He spreads Sam’s legs apart with his hands, then his ass, then he’s- 

“Ah! Oh my god.” Sam’s hands fly down to Bucky’s head as he licks at his hole. He hears Bucky groan softly. Bucky loses himself in his ministrations pretty quickly. He presses his tongue flat onto Sam’s hole and curls it just inside. He grips at Sam’s thighs with both hands to keep himself as close as possible. He flicks his tongue in and out of Sam, just enough, and Sam’s thighs shake as he pants. Bucky pulls away after a few minutes to fumble with the bedside table, grabbing lube and a condom. Sam whines at the loss of his hot mouth but is rewarded when Bucky slides a slick finger inside of him along with his tongue. “Oh,” Sam moans, long and low. It’s been so damn long since he’s allowed himself to get lost in sensation like this. There’s something about having someone who just wants to make you feel good that your own hand can never replicate. 

Bucky adds a second finger pretty quickly, but he’s gotten Sam wet and loose so all Sam feels is a sharp bolt of pleasure up his spine. He scissors his fingers and keeps licking around them. Sam knows he’s fucking wet. He’s aching, maybe he’s dying. 

“You need to,” he has to swallow hard. “You need go get in me.” 

Bucky pulls his mouth away from Sam just long enough to add a third finger. Sam cries out again and pounds one of his fists on the bed. “You don’t wanna ruin my fun do you?” Then Bucky’s back on him again. 

Sam’s a shivering shaking mess, and the added finger with Bucky’s mouth doesn’t do anything to help the situation. He’s a wreck and Bucky’s dick hasn’t even come close to his ass yet. 

“Please,” He says when he’s really sure he’s actually going to lose his mind. “Just- oh fuck! Please fuck me. I can’t take anymore. I need you.”

“ _Jesus._ God, yeah baby, okay.” Bucky pulls out his fingers slow as hell and for the next few seconds the only thing that Sam’s aware of his how goddamn empty he feels but then Bucky’s lining his cock up and pressing inside. 

It's overwhelmingly good, so much so that Sam can only lie there and force himself to breathe. He's not even doing a good job at that- each breath coming out in a pant. Bucky leans down and kisses his cheek, then his lips. He tells Sam, “You're so damn good.” And Sam’s eyes shut on their own accord. 

Bucky bottoms out, panting himself. Sam hooks his legs around Bucky's middle and gives a roll of his hips, letting Bucky know he wants him to move. 

There's no teasing this time. Bucky groans and draws himself back just enough to push inside. He starts a rhythm after that, has Sam letting out these little _uh, uh_ sounds that he doesn't even recognize coming out of his mouth. He feels so full, so unbelievably taken. He's fucking gone. Bucky fucks in him just right and says, “Feels, ah, feels so good.”

Sam nods and whines. His hands are twisted up in Bucky's comforter. Bucky moves inside him nice and rough. He tilts Sam's hips with his hands and clips the edge of Sam's prostate. Sam gasps and lets out a wail of Bucky's name. 

“Right there?”

Sam just whines again as Bucky's thrusts gain more aim. He feels pleasure burning everywhere from his toes to his scalp. He's set on fire. 

“Touch me,” Sam moans, canting his hips upwards. He needs to come. He can’t stand it. 

Bucky moans all high in his throat and does, wrapping one of his hands around Sam’s leaking and neglected dick. “You gonna come for me?” 

“Uh huh, you too.” 

“Oh baby, I’ll be right there. Go on, let me see.” Bucky aims his thrusts just right and with a few short flicks of his wrists Sam’s following his orders. He gasps as he feels his orgasm start to crash around him, then he cries out loudly as his dick shoots into Bucky’s palm and all over his own stomach. Bucky’s thrusts get erratic inside of him. He’s moaning, “Ah, ah ah-” and when he comes Sam can feel his dick pulsing inside of him. 

Bucky leans down to kiss him as he rides out the last of his orgasm. Sam moans into his mouth, body still tingling and coming down. Bucky breaks them apart and then slides out of Sam slowly. Sam whines a little at the loss even though he feels way too oversensitive to do anything but stop. 

Bucky tosses the condom in the trash and goes to retrieve a washcloth from them both to wipe up with before he plops down next to Sam on the bed, both of their feet dangling off the side onto the floor. For a while, all they do is pant. 

When Sam starts to come back to himself a little he says, “That was-”

“Yeah.” 

Sam snorts, “You’re a real eloquent guy, huh?”

“Shut it. It’s been a while.” 

The sweat on Sam’s skin starts to dry and he shivers. He begrudgingly sits up and moves around Bucky’s room to pick up his discarded clothes and put them back on. 

“What are you doin?”

It takes actual effort for Sam not to react. He could play this one of two ways: either make up some kind of lie about why he needs to leave or just let Bucky know this was a one time deal. He decides on a mix of both. 

“I gotta get up early tomorrow. I’d just drive myself home but you know, you still have my car technically.” 

Bucky’s brow furrows, “Oh. Okay. Sure.” 

The silence between them is awkward but it sits in a familiar place inside of Sam. He’s used to it. Things like this happen all too often when you’re a guy like he is. 

When Bucky pulls them up outside of his apartment he gives Sam a look that Sam can’t quite read. Why can’t he just figure this guy the hell out? “If you-” he starts but Sam interrupts him. 

“You’ll call me when you get that part in, yeah?” 

Sam’s expecting Bucky to deflate at his attempt at redirection but he doesn’t. The only reaction he gives is a slight lift of an eyebrow, almost like he’s amused. ‘Of course I will.” 

He is amused, then. Amused that Sam’s running out after what was probably the most intense sex of his entire life. Sam’s suddenly feeling more naked than he actually was just a little while ago. He swallows hard. “Thanks.” 

Bucky’s smiling now. “You have a good day tomorrow doing whatever it is you FBI agents do.” 

“And you have a good job fixing cars.” 

Bucky laughs and his eyes sparkle in the streetlight. It makes them look more gray than blue. 

Sam turns to get out of Bucky’s car but at the last second, decides to turn and look at Bucky once more. He opens his mouth to say something- he wasn’t even sure what- but is stopped by Bucky’s lips on his. It’s a sweet kiss, chaste and closed-mouthed but Sam finds himself melting into it a little, bringing a hand up to run through Bucky’s hair. Bucky lets him deepen it but only for a moment as he’s pulling away too soon. 

“Have a good night, Sam.” 

Sam nods, then finally remembers how to move his legs enough to get out of a car. “You too.” 

Bucky gives him an absolutely sinful grin, biting the edge of his lip a little before he drives away. 

Sam rubs his hand over his face. What the hell just happened? How did he go from the one doing the dismissing to the one being dismissed? Sam’s not used to this. He knows how a mind works. He knows how to make sure he never has to be anyone but the one saying goodbye. What is it about this Bucky fucking Barnes that made him slip? 

He can’t help watch as Bucky’s car drives up the street and turns. That is a man with the upper hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was just a fuse. I took her for a drive and the light didn't turn back on. Now do I send my bill to the FBI or to the guy who can't even be bothered to sleep in the same bed with the man that's just fucked him silly.” 
> 
> Sam sighs, “Little sore about that, aren't we?” 
> 
> “Never said that. Just stating some facts.”

Steve sighs and thunks his head hard onto his desk. “I just really don't-” he starts but then cuts himself off, frustrated. 

“We’re missing something,” Sam supplies. “An area, a subject group. Something.” 

“But how do we know? This town, this area- Sam, we can't just start pulling everyone in. It's close-knit. We'd destroy it.” 

Steve's eyes are soft, desperate, almost sad when he says the word. His jaw is clenched so tightly that Sam wonders how his teeth don't just snap. He's absolutely right, the last thing this area needs is for a man, a black man specifically, to come in from D.C. and decide that everyone's a suspect. The sense of community is one of their assets in this case. If someone sees something, they'll say something. They all want to be able to be safe. They want to be able to leave their doors unlocked at night again. Sam nods. “You're right. This is a town that trusts each other _and_ their police force. We want to embrace that.” Sam squeezes his hands together, miming the action. “We want to find a way to bring them together.”

“And how do we do that?” Steve sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. It's a gesture that screams skepticism as much as it's a cry for help. Steve's fiercely protective over his town, and Sam knows that if he could physically pick it up and wrap it in a blanket he would. 

“We expand our search area,” Sam says. “It takes the pressure off of the Brentonwood area, allows us to get some new faces in and shines a big fat magnifying glass on everyone here all at once.”

“How's that?”

“Well, when the people who think a killer is among them find out that we don't think so, the hero instincts will kick in. They'll be trying to prove us wrong. People always want to be right. Then we also hope that our guy gets a little loose since he doesn't think we're on his ass anymore. You have everyone paying extra attention at the same time? You might get yourself a good tip.”

Steve raises his eyebrows and gives a little shake of his head. “Alright then. Let’s do it.”

It takes longer than Sam expected to narrow down their new search area. The area Sam suggests barely has any sort of population (which doesn't necessarily sound bad to Sam after they figure it out. Stereotypes aside, there's something to be said about creepy dudes living in the woods alone). Steve wants them to go south to a town called Aldan. It's slightly less developed than Brentonwood but the population is more dense. Then the two of them just kind of bicker like six-year-olds about it for a while before a blonde woman walks past them with her head thrown back in laughter. 

“Can I help you?” Sam asks her. He doesn't mean for it to sound so rude. 

“You two are ridiculous.” She leans over the both of them and points to the map. “Your area in the north will take a lot more time to cover, but the more rural the area, the more weapons, right?” Sam gives Steve a triumphant look. Steve doesn't notice, since he's too busy staring up at the blonde woman like she hung the moon. Okay, then. 

“But Steve's area has something that Brentonwood doesn't. Have you guys visited any medical offices?” 

Sam gapes at the woman before answering, “No. None of the evidence is consistent with a suspect that has medical training.” 

She leans back and shrugs. “Hey, all I'm saying is that if I were angry enough to stab somebody and steal their teeth, I don't know if I'd have enough sense about me to make nice, neat stab marks.” Then she smiles. “I'm Sharon. Detective Sharon Carter with the county.” 

Sam shakes her hand. “Agent Sam Wilson. Good to meet you. You bring up a good point, Sharon.” 

“I don't get paid the big bucks from the county for nothin. Let me know if you want any help canvassing. Sounds exciting. Plus, this guy can get pretty annoying after awhile.” Sharon gives Steve a wink before heading through the room towards her office. 

Sam turns to Steve, who's now as red as a cherry. He bursts out laughing. “Man, you got it bad.” 

“Shut it.” Steve mumbles, but he's laughing at himself too. “She's something else.” 

“That's for sure. She's also right. We need to take a look at the medical building in Aldan. It doesn't take a trained professional to nab a teeth-extraction tool.”

By the time Steve's desk phone rings, they've got a pretty decent plan together for the next few days. 

“Rogers,” Steve answers, then he's laughing. “I'll bring him by, Pal. Don't you worry your pretty little head anymore.”

Sam can't help the grin that spreads across his face. “Car’s ready?”

“Buck says she's good as new. Come on, I'll drop you off.” 

It's been two whole days since Sam last saw Bucky. He'd like to pretend that the man hasn't crossed his mind once since then. He'd like to pretend that he didn't get himself off in the shower remembering the feel of Bucky's hands on him. But even he's not a skilled enough liar to do that. 

Bucky's waiting outside for them when Steve pulls up to the shop. He's leaning on the side of the open garage door, taking a drag from a cigarette. He tilts his head up to exhale the smoke. The skin of his neck is too pale, just begging for Sam to mark it up with his teeth. 

“I thought you quit!” Steve yells out of the window of his car. 

“Yeah and I thought I told you to mind your own business, Rogers.” Bucky's grinning at him. He lifts the cigarette up to his mouth again and takes a drag, the tip of it lighting up orange against his pink mouth. 

Sam suddenly feels like he's in a rush. He turns to Steve and thanks him for the ride before swinging open the car door and hopping out. Bucky gives Steve a little salute as he drives off. Then he says, “It was just a fuse. I took her for a drive and the light didn't turn back on. Now do I send my bill to the FBI or to the guy who can't even be bothered to sleep in the same bed with the man that's just fucked him silly.” 

Sam sighs, “Little sore about that, aren't we?” 

“Never said that. Just stating some facts.”

“Well you sure do sound a little sore there, Bucky. How do you know I just couldn't be bothered with you? Maybe I got some issues. Maybe I have night terrors. I coulda killed you.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes and flicks his cigarette into the street and starts walking into the shop with his back facing Sam. “Or you just thought that you could have me in a little puddle at your feet.” He turns to face Sam again suddenly, halting Sam in place with his body. “I don't think you know what kind of game you wanna start here, Agent.”

Sam lifts an eyebrow and forces his body to not respond to Bucky standing this close to him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. How long has it been since someone turned the tables on you?”

“Never. How much do I owe you?” 

The sudden change in subject makes Bucky blink before he says, “Hundred-seventy-five.” 

Sam heads to Bucky's cash register and pulls the proper bills out of his wallet. Bucky heads to the wall without even eyeing the money and pulls Sam's key from a rack before tossing it to him. Sam heads over to his car and leans against the driver’s side door. 

“So what,” he asks Bucky, “you done with me now?”

“Never said that either. My, my you do know what they say about making assumptions, right? It makes an ass out of you.” Bucky ambles over to him. When he's within arm’s reach, Sam lifts his hand to run down his bicep. He watches as Bucky's eyes turn hot and his pupils dilate. 

“Tell me what you want, then.” 

“What I want, huh?” I don't know yet. But I do think I know what you want.” His hands travel to Sam's hips and stroke up and down. 

“Okay, tell me what I want then.” 

Bucky’s lifting him up in an instant and putting him on the hood of his government-issued car. He spreads Sam's thighs and then moves to stand between them. “You'd love it if I'd just give in now, wouldn't you?” Bucky noses along Sam's ear. “You want me to fuck you right on the hood of your goddamn Crown Vic. You want me to give it to you rough, don't you?” He licks a stripe up Sam's neck. Sam shivers, his breath panting.

“Yeah,” he gasps. It's all he can muster. He does want that. He's wanted that since he walked in the door of Bucky's shop. He wants Bucky to give it to him fast and good. He wants to scream Bucky's name and then after he comes all over the paint of his car, ask Bucky to clean it off. He wants Bucky to do it shirtless and sweaty still. He wants-

“That's not what you're gonna get.” 

“Wha-” Sam manages before Bucky’s kissing him. Bucky's lips are just as soft as Sam remembered, his mouth tastes just as good as he opens it for Sam's tongue. Sam grips at Bucky's arms like a lifeline. Bucky kisses him, and it's just as hot as ever. Sam goes a little slack against him, tilting his head up to try and get the kiss to deepen. He's rewarded with Bucky's tongue and a hand on the small of his back pushing his hips into Bucky's. Sam feels that Bucky's already hard for him. He moans at it and wraps both of his legs around Bucky's middle to get them even closer. Bucky growls against his mouth and then pulls their lips apart. “Come have a drink with me.”

“Now?” Sam's panting, and he can't seem to stop staring at Bucky's mouth. 

“Yeah. Now. You can even drive.” 

Bucky steps back from him and Sam laughs, incredulous. He finds one of the few, if not the only man in this town that's not straight and he's infuriating. Figures. “Yeah okay.” He rubs his hand over his face. “Let’s go.” 

The closest bar is at the edge of Brentonwood. It's a bit of a dive, nothing special. The walls are wood paneled and there are pictures of the town and its residents across every wall. It's cluttered, but with the various neon signs and diner-style booths, it kind of charms Sam the moment he walks inside. 

Bucky tells him, “Look for the booth with a picture of Steve's dumb face in it. I'll meet you there.” Sam laughs, but he really isn't surprised at all to see Steve’s smiling mug along with a couple other members of the force decorating a booth. A few minutes later Bucky slides in next to him with two beers. He passes Sam one and holds his beer out for a toast. “To getting to know each other.” 

Sam lifts his eyebrow but clinks their bottles together anyway. Soft country music plays over the jukebox, just loud enough to hear over the various voices of the other patrons. Sam takes a long pull then asks, “Why bother?”

“With what?”

“Getting to know me. I'm just going to be going back to D.C. soon.” 

Bucky stares at him, blue eyes bright and narrowing just slightly. “Because I think you're interesting.” He takes a sip from his bottle. “Because you're a good fucking lay and you're hot as hell. Because since I don't even really know what you're doing here, I have no concept of how long you're going to be here.” 

“Good point.”

“Do you even know?”

“No. Not really. Couldn't tell you even if I did, though.”

Bucky's mouth lifts at the corners. “What's your house like, back in Washington.” 

Sam runs his fingers around the mouth of his bottle before he answers, “Plain and empty.” If Bucky wants to know him, then Bucky's going to get the truth. “I hate it.”

“So why don't you decorate it?” 

Sam lets his eyes fall to the table. There's stains and marks from the hundreds of drinks that have been set upon it. It's used and worn. “Too much work.” 

“You don't like it?” 

“I don't. Actually, I don't like D.C. at all really. I'm from Harlem.” 

“No shit. A fellow New Yorker.”

Sam meets Bucky's eyes again. They're piercing, staring right through him and figuring him out. Sam’s speechless with the realization of it. He's spent years of his life guarding himself, building walls around himself and taking everyone else apart. It's taken Bucky mere days to chip away at his protection. Bucky's inside his head like no one else has been before. He clears his throat then say, “Never really leaves you.”

“That it doesn't.”

Sam raises his bottle for a second toast. “To New York City.” 

Bucky smiles. “I'll drink to that.” They both drain their beers with their toast. Bucky grabs them both and asks, “Want another?” He's out of the booth before Sam can even answer, leaving Sam to gaze after him and try to school his thoughts from how badly he wants to run while Bucky's back turned into something normal. 

He doesn't quite get there before he hears Bucky's voice carry over the crowd saying, “What the fuck’s your problem, man?” 

Sam's out of his seat in an instant, pushing through the crowd to get to where Bucky is at the bar. He's standing almost chest to chest with another man. He's tall, maybe an inch taller than Bucky with a small build. His head is completely bald and his face is covered in a gray goatee. He snarls, “You're my problem. I asked you to fix my car and you did a crack job.” 

“Fuck no. I don't fuck up on my job. I know my shit. I don't even know what you're talking about! You haven't called the shop!” 

“Hey!” Sam shouts. He pushes Bucky backwards with his hand and gets between the two men. The last thing he needs right now is to break up a damn bar fight. “This is surely a matter that can be solved outside of here during business hours. Why don't you just get your drink and go sit down.”

“And who the fuck are you?” The guy puts himself all up into Sam's space, trying to intimidate him. “Barnes has got some asshole from out of town fighting for him now?” Then he laughs, “or maybe he's just got an asshole from out of town to stick his dick into.” 

“You shut the fuck up!” Bucky screams, pushing at Sam to get at the guy. 

Sam keeps his face expressionless and answers, “I'm just a guy who doesn't want to break up a bar fight. Sir, why don't you just go sit down?”

“Fuck you! Fuck you asshole you don't know shit! You can't tell me what to do!” 

“John!” Somebody else is pushing their way through the crowd to get to them. Sam spots a head full of long blonde hair. Sharon shoulders her way through the onlookers and stands right in front of Sam and the guy- John. “You don't know him either, and while you think he can't tell you what to do, you damn well know that I can.” 

“You're off duty, Sharon. Stay out of this.” 

Sharon holds up her phone. “Off duty doesn't mean shit around here and you know that. Captain Rogers could be here in two minutes. Or I could get my county guys out if you'd rather.” She's daring him to say something. Sam understands Steve's crush on her all at once. When John doesn't answer, she continues, “So why don't you do us a favor and get out of here? Go home,” she looks at Sam then, _” Doctor_ Faustus. I'm sure you wouldn't want any of your patients to see you acting like a fool.”

Sam's brain lights up at the man’s title. Sharon was the one that suggested they take a look at the medical offices nearby. Sharon’s the one pointing out his title. Sharon wants Sam to know. Sharon thinks that it's him. 

For a long moment, Sam thinks that John might hit Sharon or just say fuck all and reach straight over them both to go for Bucky but he doesn't, instead he points a finger in Bucky's direction. “You're going to hear from me Barnes.” He starts heading to the door but doesn't stop shouting. “I'm gonna make your life hell!” 

The bar is silent spare for the music playing after he's gone. “Go on,” Sharon says to the crowd. “Keep on drinking.” Her instructions bring out a few excited cheers and she turns to Sam smiling. 

“Thank you,” Sam tells her, the underlying ‘for the hint’ audible in his tone. 

“Anytime.” She gives a nod to Bucky. “Have a good night gentlemen.”

Bucky's already leaning over the bar and ordering himself a drink when Sam turns to look at him. His hands are trembling finely. “You okay?” 

“Uh-huh. I'm gonna have a quick shot and then we can get on outta here.” Sam already knows he's lying. 

Xxx

“I'm tired,” Bucky whines. 

“Well you did drink quite a bit.” Sam loops his arm around Bucky's shoulders and drags him up one more step. They've been heading up to Bucky's apartment for entirely too long. 

“I don't drink anymore since the war.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Nooope. My heads messed up now.” 

Sam’s gut swoops out hearing Bucky's admission. He's pretty sure that he wouldn't have told him that sober. It feels like a stolen treasure. He doesn't ask any follow up questions, just keeps dragging Bucky forward and into his house

“Are you gonna be okay tonight?” Sam asks as he kicks Bucky's front door shut. 

“I'm gonna sleep.” Then he full out giggles. “I wanna kiss you some more first.” 

“If I kiss you some will you go to sleep?”

“Yup.” Then Bucky pushes away from Sam side. “I gotta pee first.” He takes about two steps before he trips over a floorboard and just barely catches himself on the wall. He's still laughing. “Oh my god! That floorboard! That little fucker! Sam! Sam! I nail that damn thing down like _all the time_ and it always comes back up! Why does it do that?” 

Sam can't help but smile, “I don't know, Buck.”

Bucky wobbles his way into the bathroom, leaving the door open so he can continue to complain to Sam. “I just did it the morning I met you!” The toilet flushes and he stumbles out of the bathroom, holding onto the doorframe so that he can kick his pants off. “You know, before you wouldn't snuggle with me.” 

“Oh my god,” Sam's really laughing now. “First the floorboard won't stay, then me, huh?”

“I know! Come on, snuggle with me now. Just a little.” Bucky sticks his lip out a little. Sam knows that even drunk, Bucky's putting up a front. He's terrified. 

“Okay, sure.” 

Sam lets Bucky cradle him to his chest and when he leans up and kisses Bucky on the mouth, it shouldn't feel as good as it does. The kiss itself is sloppy and wet. It tastes too much of whiskey and their teeth keep bumping, but the entire time Bucky's hand stays firm on Sam's back. And Sam keeps his hand placed on Bucky's chest, right above his heart. It's soft and warm and Sam even feels himself get a little sleepy as their lips drag together. He feels his heartbeat pick up because of something other than desire. 

“Hey. I gotta go.”

“I know,” Bucky’s eyes are closed now but he reaches out and gives Sam one more kiss. 

“You call me if you need me, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Sam leaves, really hoping that Bucky would. 

Xxx

The next morning, there's been another murder. 

“Same pattern, same method, same guy.” Sam says, leaning over the body. “We get a name?”

“Patrick Johnson. Single, 35, worked at the gas station as an attendant.” 

“Nothing exciting?” 

“Nothing so far,” Steve says, folding his hands across his chest. “I didn't know him at all.” 

“Yeah, but someone did. Do the usual interviews. God, he really had the balls to come into town last night.” They're only a few blocks south of Steve and Sam's street and just a few blocks north of Bucky's apartment. “Someone had to have seen something.” 

“Let’s hope. Gonna be a busy day.”

“Hey, Steve?” Sam takes a step closer to Steve to keep his voice low. “What do you know about a Doctor Faustus?” 

Steve's head tilts back with realization. His lips flatten out into a thin line. “Quite a bit. But-”

“Not today. He'd lawyer up.” 

“He's also half the town’s doctor. So we pick our times wisely here.”

Sam nods. “Understood.” 

“Today? We canvas this entire area. Talk to Patrick’s coworkers, friends, family- everyone. If there's something special about this guy, we need to figure it out. Then tomorrow?” Steve gives a sigh. “We make a doctor’s appointment.” 

_Patrick was such a nice guy._

_Patrick used to do drugs. Not hard ones, just weed_

_Patrick used to-_

_-he was_

_I'm going to miss him so much_

“Fuck,” Sam rests his head on his forearm on his kitchen table. It’s well after ten at night. They'd spent the entire day working with CSI and the county detectives. Sam's talked to at least twenty people, and read the interviews where he wasn't present. He's heard plenty about Patrick Johnson, surface shit. Shit that everybody knows. “Who knows you, Patrick?” Sam asks the picture of the brown-haired man. “And who wanted you dead?” 

Sam jolts as his phone starts to ring beside him. It's exactly who he thought it would be, but not for the reason he expected. 

Xxx 

Bucky sits cross-legged on Sam's couch. He's pale, dark shadows standing out against his skin. “I'm sorry,” he tells Sam. “I-I just wanted to see you.” 

“Bucky,” Sam runs his hand up and down Bucky's arm. “What's going on?” 

Bucky looks up at him, biting his lip. “You're here about the murders, aren't you?” 

Sam doesn't answer, so Bucky keeps going. “I figured you were, but- I mean- nobody wants a murderer in their town so I've just kind of been hoping you were here for the meth or something.” He gives a nervous chuckle. “That one today, it was just damn close. Oh god. I'm so sorry. I'm just some guy you slept with and here I am worrying about you like some kind of paranoid weirdo.” 

Sam gives him a little smile, “If you're a paranoid weirdo, then I'm right there with you.” Sam gives a little shrug, “Shit’s scary.” It’s not a lie. Sam knows just as well as anyone that life is fragile, that the people you know can be taken in an instant. He thinks about the proximity of the most recent murder to Bucky's house. He thinks about Bucky being drunkenly passed out and vulnerable. He doesn't like how it makes his heart jump. 

Bucky nods. “I'm good now. I just needed to make sure you were okay. Just- had a bad feeling.” He stands to leave. 

Sam catches him by the hand. “Hang on. Can you-” he feels ridiculous for asking it. He's not scared, not one bit but he can't stop thinking about the feeling of Bucky's body against his the night before. He can't stop thinking about how all he wants right now is to just keep Bucky close. “You should stay.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky's eyebrows are raised in surprise. 

“Yeah. You should stay. You should fuck me first but you can sleep here after, yeah.” Sam pulls on Bucky's hand more. He swings one leg over Sam's lap, then the other, effectively straddling him. 

Bucky cups Sam's face in his hands. “I can definitely fuck you.” His lips ghost Sam's, his hot breath hitting them. 

“You gonna make me scream?” Sam reaches out with his teeth and nips at Bucky's bottom lip. His blood’s running hot, completely shutting down the part of his brain that tells him to stop. 

“Its only fair.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come follow me on [tumblr](unclesteeb.tumblr.com) where I do lots of keyboard smashing.


End file.
